Cinder
by Archaic Raven
Summary: Severus Snape finds that he is in for way more than he bargained for. (Introduces my orig. character, Bella Cinder / and Includes the Potterverse characters of Hermione, Draco, The Bloody Baron, Sirius/Remus and even an appearance of Harry himself!)
1. Of trains and musical pixies

Disclaimer:

This world belongs to JK Rowling, I'm merely playing in it.

Not making money, not becoming famous. Just playing with it, and promising to return everything to it's rightful place when I'm done.  Possibly glued back together, but returned just the same – in one piece.

::nods::

Cinder A Harry Potter Fanfiction 

_By: Laura Bishop (Archaic Raven)_

*

_"Eye'm sorry, Eye'm ugly,_

_all that I am_

_And I can never live up_

_Eye'm failing, Eye'm angry, afraid of the way_

_They pretend to be us!_

_It's fuct up, Eye'm different_

_Wurdz remain my only escape . . ."_

'Blood Pigs' by Otep 

_from the album: SEVAS TRA_

*

Chapter One 

It wasn't a surprise that the other students were avoiding the compartment like the plague.  _After all_, she thought, _I'm here in it_.  A smirk crossed her pale, pretty face and she opened her purchase of Bertie Bott's.  As always, there was no one to share the candy with, other than her cat – Meow, and the cat wasn't one for sweets.  This fact didn't bother her in the least bit, or so she told herself it didn't.  She had convinced herself around her third year that she didn't need anyone else, except her cat and her mother. Since then, her mind had upheld that sentiment, at any rate in the conscious part of it.  But, deep down inside – Bella Cinder, a 7th year Slytherin at Hogwart's School – really longed for the company of a like minded individual who didn't hate her for the brain in her head, and didn't fear her for the way that brain worked.  

There was someone of course, but . . . **_he_** . . . he was a dream.  

_Ha_, she scolded herself, _as if there could ever be more with him!_

As if in a type of avoidance of these buried sorrows, Bella untied a small, burgundy velvet pouch from one of the belt loops of the black cargo pants she wore.  Muggle clothes were the best in her opinion, pure-blood though she might be.  Muggle clothes had more comfort.  Plus, they were just cooler – at least in her humble opinion.  Pale blue eyes locked on the bag then, small fingers drawing the black drawstring out to open the pouch.  There were other things that the Muggles were good at.  Like music, for example.  

In her fourth year, Bella's mother had given her an enchanted, pixie-like doll.  It could 'record' whatever music you exposed it to, then, when asked it to play back – it would not only give a perfect copy of the song requested, but also 'dance' to it.  It was Bella's most prized possession, after Meow and her favorite pair of silk pajama pants, of course.  This doll was also what happened to reside in her little burgundy bag.  As it was not electrical, but indeed very enchanted, it could work in the realm of magic.  A perfect thing to record Muggle music on.  Bella had her entire muggle CD collection recorded on this little peach of a gift, and it was a perfect boredom killer – especially at times like this.  When she was all alone.

Another smirk came to her face.  I have another friend in you, hmm? She thought towards the little music doll.  It floated in mid-air, spider web wings folded behind the delicate little arms.  Bella produced her wand (ebony and Sphinx talon) then, gave the incantation –and the little fae lifted it's glittery face to her own.

"What would you like to hear, mistress?"  The tiny voice was clear as crystal, sweet as honey.  That could change of course, but Bella didn't mean it to at the time.  She wanted to be calmed for the moment.   Hogwarts was something to look forward to, if one looked on the positive side.  There, some people that she didn't mind resided with her, and these select people didn't mind her – though she'd call none of those acquaintances friends.  No, not really.  But there was one, one whom she wished she'd count as more than friend . . . though she knew it was an impossibility.  

"Enya, Fallen Embers." Bella told her with a melancholy sigh, leaning back against the seat.  There were a  few things that Bella liked outside of the heavy metal and classical genres of Muggle music.  Enya was one of them.  Metal and classical though, they were her favorites.  But, the mood didn't call for either – it called for Enya. 

"As Mistress wishes."  And then, the sound of the music began, and the little fae opened her mouth, and began to sing.  Her movements came next, pretty and gentle –a waltz of gossamer wings and wistful, almost sorrowful ballet steps.  

*

Down the corridor of that particular train segment, the music did not reach the other passengers.  Perhaps it would have if some of the nearby compartments were silent, but that was far from the present tense of any of the areas around Bella.  The other compartments were full of laughter, where children and teenagers played games of Exploding Snap, traded Great Wizards cards, made new friends or just caught up on one another's lives.  

In one particular compartment sat Hermione Granger.  With her were her constant Hogwart's companions – namely, Ron Weasley, and the ever famous Harry Potter.  At the moment, Hermione was ignoring them, reading a book, while they talked loudly about Quidditch.  None of this was an unusual scene for the trio.  _It's good to be going home again_, Harry thought – pulling his mind from the grip of Quidditch for a split second.   _It's good to be with my friends._  Nothing seemed as perfect as this picture in his mind.  Such as this should not be laced with poison and death as it so was.

But here, he did not think of Voldemort; here he did not think of the death of Cedric Diggory.  At least, not for the moment.  The thoughts would happen upon him, momentarily . . . but until then, was it such a horrid crime to forget?  In away, one would say yes – it was, even for a moment of easy breathing.  Harry didn't think so, for not thinking about it did not mean forgetting.  That was something he could not do.   

As if in agreement, his lightening bolt shaped scar gave a faint, fiery pain.   It had been throbbing so all summer, though nothing had yet come of it.  Voldemort was most likely plotting, gathering information . . .  Saving the revenge for when it would be best served.  Harry had already written to Sirius, his outlawed godfather, as well as to Headmaster Dumbledore about these tale-tell pangs.   All they really could do, for the moment, was sit, watch, wait and be ready.  

_Constant Vigilance! _

*

A bit further down, past the outer doors of that one car, and into the confines of another's narrow hallway – Draco Malfoy walked with his own constant Hogwart's companions.  On his lips were the stories of new students from America, which he thought only to be a rumor.  Someone had told him that they were already on the train, which he doubted . . . But, he knew a better diversion that was on the train – she was always on the train.  His companions, Crabbe and Goyle both got knowing looks in there eyes.  A favorite past time of most of the Slytherins with a prominent cruelty streak was to verbally torture Bella Cinder.  That is, until she hexed you so hard you spent the next week picking your trousers from your teeth.  That was the game of course, to see who she hexed first.  First place was a badge of honor.  It meant you got passed that place where she ignored you . . . and that, they'd learned by experience – was a difficult place to get by.  

Draco had never really gotten first place in the whole house – someone else had always gotten o her first.  However, as this was Cinder's last year – he had a plan to reach his goal where she was concerned.  

After all, there were bets going. . .

*

                Bella didn't hear them coming, but that didn't mean she didn't expect them.  In fact, she knew they would be coming – at least one group of them, her would be tormentors from her own house.  Another fact she'd learned in her years as a Slytherin . . .they'll always come to play with the outcasts.  And she was the Queen of the Outcasts . . . not only in her house, but in the entire school.  At least for this year anyway, and then it wouldn't matter anymore.  At least, that's what mother told her.  Somehow, Bella doubted it.  She saw the way adults worked. . . it was perpetually like school.  Only with life or death added in for good measure.   

_I'll survive though_, she promised herself.  _I'll survive them all. . . somehow.  _

On this mental note, the door to her compartment rolled open, and she was joined by Draco Malfoy and his entourage of idiocy.  The music fae, then reciting the darkly romantic flow of Cradle of Filth's song "Beauty Slept in Sodom", stopped abruptly at this interruption.  Slowly, she turned to face the new comers.  Her glittery face scowled at the intruders, and behind her, Bella smiled.  Over the summer, she'd equipped the little musical pixie with one more little feature.  It worked only on people whom the fae sensed as hazardous to it's own well-being, and annoying to the Mistress.    Of course, not knowing this . . . Malfoy and his goons were laughing at the pristine toy, when suddenly . . .

                QWABANG! A flash of amber, and, after a short silence later . . .

Draco, Goyle and Crabbe were launched out into the train corridor, singing 'I've got a lov-a-lee bunch of coconuts . . . here they are standing in a row-ow-ow. . .', in a cockney accent that made their upper class hackles rise, even as the voices left their mouths.  

                "Sodding morons."  Bella muttered, crossing the room to close the door .   The fae followed her actions with enchanted eyes.

                "My memory banks cannot access that one, mistress."  The toy stated, her voice sorrowful.

                "Blatantly."  Bella chuckled, then she settled back into her seat.  "Let's go for something aggressive please.   I'm thinking . . .  Otep, Blood Pigs."

                "As it please you."  And then, her musical wish was granted . . .


	2. Simple Observations equals A lot of trou...

Chapter Two 

                Spread before them in unforgettable splendor was the Great Hall of Hogwart's School – greeting the new students and welcoming the returning scholars home.  The Professors, save for McGonagall – who was then leading in the wide-eyed 1st years – were seated at the Head Table, to the right or left hand of Albus Dumbledore, the Head Master.  His wizened, kind face was as smiling and jovial as it usually was.  

The Great Hall was loud with chatter for a moment, until of course McGonagall made her way to the front of the Hall, to stand before her fellow Professors and the Headmaster.  When she'd reached this place, the 1st years following her there, she stepped aside from her standing place to reveal an old stool that had an even older hat sitting upon it.  This hat was tattered and torn, patched as well.  It seemed nothing special.  The 1st years, looking at it, were heard to sigh with some relief.  In the rows of already seated students, some gentle laughter wafted up – they were most likely remembering the false horror stories of the Sorting that they themselves had been told.  

And here it was, just a hat.  However, not a moment later, the Hat opened it's mouth – _yes, it had a mouth_ – and began to sing.  _Would wonders never cease?_

At her place along the Slytherin table, Bella rolled her eyes.  _What I wouldn't give for a pair of headphones to go along with my music doll_, she thought to herself.  Apparently, the wonder of the singing Sorting Hat had lost it's edge for her after so many years.  It didn't matter if the song changed each time.  Around her, the majority of her house mates seemed as disenchanted with it all as she was.  Some even turned to whisper conversations with whoever was beside them – others let their eyes drift along the charmingly enchanted ceiling.  Above their heads, the night sky was black velvet studded with stars and crowned by a smiling moon.  Her eyes only stayed there for a moment though, there were things of interest elsewhere for her, and she knew everyone would take it for interest in the present Sorting.  _Fools. _

"Kettle, Elvira!"  McGonagall called out, looking up from the list to see a tiny, cherub faced girl with honey colored eyes and midnight black hair make her way to the Hat and the stool.  Bella seemed to be watching Miss Kettle as well, but she barely registered the sound when the Hat called out "Ravenclaw!" as it was set on the little child's head.  Bella's eyes were locked on someone much different.  Beyond the Sorting, sitting at the Head Table, at the left hand of Dumbledore, was Professor Severus Snape – looking out at the students with a half interest that spoke of his own wish to look up at the ceiling – or even better, to just leave. 

*

Severus, uncomfortable as always at such functions, was hoping that Dumbledore wouldn't say anything about his lack of attention later on that evening, when the teachers met for one last time to discuss the upcoming year before going to bed.  Of course, the Headmaster would disguise the reprimand with a light hearted teasing, as usual – and the other Professors would nod and laugh about his infamous disregard for anything merry.  Severus scoffed under his breath at the thought of all of this.  And then, out of the blue, he decided not to give them a bloody chance for that usual scenario.  His attention then went to his own House table, to make sure his students were behaving.  Being the Head of Slytherin House was a bit of a challenge from time to time, (when he choose to really put his heart into it, or when it really called for him to; to keep the little dunderheads from killing themselves or someone else) even at the Sorting Ceremony.  

His obsidian like eyes focused on one certain person right away after an initial scan for trouble.  Not that she was trouble maker of course, but because she concerned him greatly.  She reminded him of himself at her age.  Alone, sad and looking for acceptance wherever it reared it's head – even if she pretended to care less.  Looking not the least bit put out at the moment, not even from boredom - Bella Cinder leaned her chin on her crossed arms which were propped up on the table.  Her long, curling, dark brunette hair made a silky cloud and veil around her round, pretty face – almost lending her a bit of an angel's look to her slightly catty features.  Pale, azure blue eyes were wreathed in almost tangible dreams – obviously romantic. And those pretty, dreamy orbs were staring right back at him – he could tell, even in all this crowd.  She saw no one else but him!  And then, her milky skin turned rose petal pink.  She noticed he was looking back!  Adverting her eyes to the ceiling that would be the night sky, she continued to blush.  

_Intriguing_, he thought.  _Very intriguing.  Flattering too, she is such a lovely young . . ._  And then, a sudden discomfort and deep guilt took him.  _This can't be good, of course . . . and cannot be encouraged!  So, how should I go about this?_  

Questions, Questions . . . but had he an answer? 

No, not yet.  

*

When the Sorting Ceremony was over, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor announced (Bella hadn't caught the name) and the feast had been called up for the hungry students, the resident ghosts came to give their welcome as well.   Some of the 1st years were again looking a bit uneasy, since more than a few were Muggle born and had only heard tales of ghosts before.  No one at the Slytherin table was bothered by the presence of the specters, but they were calling grief on some of the nearby Ravenclaw newbies.  

Bella wasn't one of the antagonist though.  Not that this struck anyone as odd, of course, she rarely ever was.  The time found her not even hearing the cruelties, as her thoughts were centered on the little scare she'd had earlier that evening.

_He knows_!  Her mind cried over and over_. He knows!  This is disaster!_

_Or is it?_  Another voice question seductively in her head.


	3. Sleeping Potions and Lesson Plans

Chapter Three 

Stretching out on her bed, after putting her things away – Bella, in a room all her own (Slytherins, creatures of privacy, each had their own rooms once they hit year 4 ), was glad to be arrived.  Curled up beside her, already dozing, was Meow.  Ignoring the cat, Bella let her eyes roam the room.  It was familiar, already baptized in her mass of belongings – almost identical to the room she had last year, but obviously not.  The fireplace was not to the left here, the door was . . . and her window didn't have such a pretty grate frame last year.   Of course, Hogwart's had a tendency to change itself around from time to time, so there was no way to be absolutely sure.  _Such a curious place.  So much like home, and yet . . . not.  After all_, she finished the particular thought, _Hogwarts only has one poltergeist, thankfully_.   Then, she grimaced_. Poor Peeves is nothing like the three we have at the château.  Thank Creation for small blessings._

Then, her mind turned to something else. . ._  So, Professor Snape  saw me looking at him.  What to do about that? Anything?  Or do I just wait for the inevitable call to his office when he puts a stopper on all my teenage dreams?  _A smirk crossed her face_.  Funny, I think I'd be giddy even from that.  Such a fancy I have with the man, you'd think him made of gold!  Oh, but I think he's a bit more pretty than gold – and a whole lot more difficult to obtain, obviously.  _She sighs._  O, what is a girl to do?  _

A smile slipped over her face as she heard a purr beside her which interrupted her thoughts, and she turned on her side to face her cat.  Meow was then looking up at her with large orange eyes, rolled over on sleek back to have her tummy pat.  

"Spoiled little darling."  Bella murmured.  She was propped up on her elbow then, the hand of which was then supporting her chin as the other gave into her cat's whims.  As she did this, she gave a little yawn.  Obviously, sleepiness had snuck up on her.   It was the normal way of things, Bella being the night owl that she was.  Meow swatted her fingers with his paw, and she just rolled her eyes at the feline.  Pulling her hand away, she let her body come to a rest on it's back – her eyes focused upon the fabric 'ceiling' of her sheer drape enclosed bed.  

_How odd that they put the privacy curtains in the single rooms, too_.   _I wonder if Professor Snape's bed has privacy curtains?  I wonder what he wears behind those privacy curtains, if he wears anything? _

A stifled, tired giggle came after last thought before she went drifting off to sleep, still above the covers – still with her dressing gown on over her black silk nightgown.  

*

Not far away from the Slytherin dorms;  just a few turns down the twisting corridors of the dungeon – sat Professor Severus Snape.  He was in his own rooms, of course.  Comfortable with his nightcap in his left hand and a book in his right, propped on his lifted knee as he read it.  The dingy, embroidered ottoman beneath his foot was old and tattered, looking very out of place in his otherwise immaculate, black and red swathed sitting room.  Trying to concentrate on the words his eyes were scanning, his mind continued to drift back to the Great Hall.  Back to her, and her blue eyed gaze of great interest.  _Unnerving, frightening, gaze. _He thought_.  Intriguing, invigorating, gaze.  Beautiful eyes, sweet face – trust and lust mixed into such an innocent countenance._

"O, do stop Severus – she'll drive you to distraction."  He told himself sternly, shutting his book closed and bringing his cup of brandy to his lips simultaneously. _It seems she already has_.  "No - She's just a child, an innocent child."  _An innocent child of 17, soon to be deemed ready for the outside world – the world that knows her Father is in Azkaban for serving He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.  The world that already hates her for her birth from that man's line.  The least I could do is offer her a leading hand._  "O, and where would that hand lead?  I'm no better than any of the filth in Azkaban."

A loud squawk from the other side of the sitting room drew his attention.  A large raven was perched on a stand, winged shoulders hunched in annoyance.  A welcome interruption, as always.  _Yes, that was Nevermore to a T.  Constant interruption. _

"I fed you already, ungainly bird."  Severus stated, getting up from his seat and crossing the room to the midnight colored bird that served in place of an owl.  

It replied with a caw, and hopped from it's perch to his left shoulder.   

"Ah, just attention hungry then?"  

A sound that greeted his ears like a scratchy bit of laughter.  Severus nodded his head and walked back to his chair, his fingers lightly petting the bird's feet.   It's talons scratched into his flesh just a bit, but this was only natural – and something he minded not in the least.  It reminded him that he could still feel – even after all he'd been through, he could still feel.  It was elation, in it's own simple right.  

"So, Nevermore, what should I do about young Miss Cinder?"  

Of course, the bird had no answer save for a tilt of it's head.  

"My thoughts exactly."  Severus muttered, feeding it a few crumbs from a plate on the table at his side.  It had once held scones, that plate.  Nevermore enjoyed his little snack, and squeezed Severus' shoulder a bit more to show this appreciation.  Then, the bird launched itself from it's wizard perch and returned to it's assigned place in the Master's quarters.  "Another good thought, old friend.  Sleep sounds a good retreat.  And all those bloody dunderheads to deal with in the morning."  Severus sighed, shook his head and retired to his own bedroom – leaving Nevermore in darkness, which the bird indeed enjoyed.

Closeted away in his bedroom, Severus removed that day's assembly of robes, and changed into a pair of comfortable Muggle sweat pants.  Simpletons that they could be at times, Muggles did at least know their sleep wear.  After this switch of attire, the Potion's Master went into his bathroom, heading directly for the little cupboard above the sink.  Inside was his key to a goodnight's sleep.  Just one little sip would leave him nightmare free, at least for the first few hours – and all he needed was that first few hours to be ready for the coming day.   A short lived reprieve for all the horrors that were locked in his psyche, but a reprieve just the same.    He took the precious bottle into his long fingered hand, and uncorked the top.

"Cheers."  Severus saluted his reflection in the mirror, then knocked back the much needed little sip of potion.  He knew he'd be lucky to make it back to his bed before his eyes began to shut, before his ever thinking brain would silence, before sleep would embrace him and take him away from the years of death that lay behind him and all the uncertainty that lay in his path.  

~*~

The light of dawn spilled through her window and over her floor, warming the stones just a bit.  In her bed, behind the privacy curtains, Bella continued to sleep. . . until a cat's paw batted her nose.  Once.  Twice.  Three . . . she caught the paw between her fingers, faster than light on the last one.  Meow's orange eyes greeted her with annoyance, and a hiss only accented the feline's feelings.  Bella hissed back at the cat, then let go of it's paw.  

The animal hopped from the bed, mewing loudly.  Bella sat up, stretched and looked down on the animal pacing her room.  

"You really think I should feed you after the way you woke me up?"  She questioned her familiar, raising one of her thin, well kept, black eyebrows.  The animal purred it's opinion.  "All sweetness now, huh?  Typical.  Typical."  Bella left the bed, the hem of her nightdress grazing the floor as she walked, making her way to where she had placed all of Meow's belongings.  She produced his bowls a few moments later, one filled with generic cat food and the other with crème that the House Elves had left, as they had every morning for every year Bella'd had Meow with her.  Immediately after the bowls had been sat down for him, Meow was over them – not knowing whether to eat or drink first.  Bella left him to his decision, and went to get dressed for the day.  

When she emerged from her room with her school things, she was dressed in her black, Slytherin encrusted school robes.  As always, she wore a little bit of makeup - dramatic black eyeliner to give her almond shaped eyes an extra catty look, a bit of purple eyeshadow to add to the allure, and glittery lip gloss that made her full lips shine even in faint candlelight.   Her dark hair was pulled back into a wild, high ponytail - showing off her high cheekbones and the round shape of her face.  She had on a bit of jewelry as well.  A small silver ankh on a silver chain that hung visible outside her robes and a silver, onyx and emerald poison ring on her left middle finger.   Both were special to her.  The ankh had a tiny replica of her family crest engraved on it (by magic, of course) and the poison ring was the last gift her Father ever gave her . . . before he was sentenced to the horrid confines of Azkaban.  The ring also had a bit of magic in it.  It resized itself to fit any of her fingers, at any age, and it could only be worn by her.  

Bella waited until Meow left the room before she locked her door and made her way to the exit in the common room.  Once she was out of Slytherin Territory, she made her way through the corridors of Hogwart's School to the Great Hall, where breakfast awaited all the students.  Taking her place at the end of her house table, she broke out her school books to do some catch up studying over her breakfast.  After this, she took her first look at her new schedule.   Her eyes immediately landed on Potions for that day, and a smile broke out on her face.  Even if it were the third class for the morning, it was going to be an everyday occurrence, as she had two courses of it that year.  Her year's normal class, and Advanced Potion Making, which Professor Snape had given her the possibility of last year.   She folded her schedule to her chest, and sighed, not caring that it was nearing time for her first class – Transfiguration. 

*

Severus sat in his office, giving his lesson plans a final take before classes began.   When he came across his Advanced Potions class roll, he gave an unnoticed sigh.  It was half blissful, half anxious, that sigh.  He'd not forgotten that he'd let Miss Cinder enroll in his advanced course, but it was only then becoming real to him that he would have to deal with her and this . . .  interest . . . on a daily basis.  That meant he had to find a way to approach it, and solve it so that the outcome would be good and healthy for the two of them (not to mention socially acceptable) and so that he wouldn't lose her scholarly trust.   After all, there were only a few other bright minds among the students in his opinion.  All of them he knew of were in his Advanced class, including Hermione Granger – whom he would never admit the talent and potential of vocally in public.   It wasn't her fault of course, it was just his grudge against a certain bespectacled youth whom Miss Granger choose to waste her intelligent presence on.   Now, had she befriended Miss Cinder . . . 

"That's a thought there."  He stated out loud, rummaging around for the seating arrangements of that particular class.  _Not a romantic replacement – by mechanics only, of course – one must allow for another's preferences . . .   But a friend to give her a sort of social atmosphere, and a friend whose is of her own age . . . Even better.  It might not work, who knows?  But, if by some miracle they can get over their houses, it might aid a silent solution . . .  _He scratched out their names from the original seating chart, then placed them side by side – in the middle of the room, so that he could monitor them with ease, but so it wouldn't look like he was paying them any special attentions.  "Oh, sweet simplicity . . .  May you gift me with help now."  He whispered, hearing the sound of footsteps echo down the dungeon corridors.  Classes were to begin, apparently.  "Bloody," he sighed, caught almost off guard in a way, "here we go . . ."

Severus rose from his office desk, and left for his first class -his lesson plans and seating charts with him.    _Time to try and beat a few bits of sense into some young minds . . .   _


	4. Hermione's Findings

Chapter Four

Hermione took a deep breath at the entrance to the dungeon.  This breath was ritualistic for before each new class,  of every first day she'd been attending the school; but this time – on this threshold – the breath was much deeper than any of those that came before.  Harry and Ron were not with her, as they usually were.  Neither of them had this Advanced class she'd opted to take.  That didn't surprise her, of course.  Professor Snape had owled her about it, saying it was a privilege for one as young as she.  _Usually_, his message had stated, _students didn't have the chance for it until far, far after graduation –which was very much indeed too late.  Others got the chance at it upon their 7th year, but they were few and far between._  _She_, the note had said in Snape's painfully neat handwriting, _was the first student in about 20 years to be given a chance at admission into the class as a mere 5th year_. 

  Of course, this was beyond temptation to Hermione, so she all but jumped at the chance.  And besides, it was just another chance to prove to those bloody nay-sayers in the school (particularly the likes of Draco Malfoy) that she, a girl born from a Muggle family, could be even more brilliant than the lot of them.  This wasn't her main drive, of course – she always strived to be the best she could be at anything – but, her want to show herself as beyond the norm was a great part of her endless stamina when it came to school (or anything else for that matter).  

She walked down to the class room, the corridors winding and eerily silent as she navigated them with quick steps.  When she reached her destination, she found that three other students were already there, waiting.  Two of them were boys, each Ravenclaws in their 7th year.  They regarded her with nods and mere silence, acknowledging her right to be there –despite her young age.  The third person in the room was a girl, and one that Hermione knew only by sight and rumor. Bella Cinder.  

This girl looked at the 5th year Gryffindor with little interest, but nodded to her just the same.  Bella's attention then went to a book she was reading – though Hermione noticed that her eyes flashed to the open doorway more than about three times in less than 20 seconds.  

"Aren't you going to sit down?"  The voice belonged to one of the Ravenclaw youths.  He was unremarkable in the looks department, having very plain features with short, sandy hair and dull gray eyes.  Hermione knew him from the library, of course.  His first name was Marcus.  She couldn't remember his last name.   She didn't reply to him, only took a seat quickly, landing herself two tables away from Miss Cinder.  That's when she noticed that their were name cards on the desks.

"I didn't know your name was Bryden."  Marcus stated, looking at the name card she'd plopped down before. 

"You're over here, Granger."  Bella stated, eyes still flashing between the doorway and her book.  "With me."

"Dirty luck."  Marcus smirked to Hermione.  Bella didn't seem to notice it, being so absorbed in her present interests.  Not giving a real reaction herself, Hermione picked up her belongings and went to Bella's side at the two-seater table in the dead center of the room.  As she did, another four students joined them.  Three more Ravenclaws and a couple of Hufflepuffs – all of whom Hermione was familiar with, had spoken with once or twice, but none of which were any she really could call a good acquaintance.  She felt very alone in the classroom, her seating partner still only minding her book and the door.  And then, almost as if by a bit of magic of it's own, Bella's lips perked into a small, shy smile.  It was almost if she heard something she'd been waiting for.  Hermione could only guess . . . but . . .

Seconds later, cutting off her thoughts, Professor Snape entered the room – his orders for them to take out their quills already passing his thin lips.  He slammed the door behind himself, moving to his desk in his usual sweeping way.  Bella's eyes were locked on him, but her face read none of the annoyance that the other students had stamped upon their own.  _How very . . . odd?_  Hermione thought. _Not to mention interesting.  I wonder if Snape notices?_

"Miss Granger."  The voice of the man in question cut quick and deep through her thoughts.  Her eyes flickered to him in less than a second, her skin prickling in something that was akin to fear.  _He's going to humiliate me, I know it . . . _"Would you kindly introduce us to your reasons for boring holes into the side of Miss Cinder's face?  Especially when her ear doesn't have the lesson written upon it?"  _Yup, as predictable as ever._

The class around her allowed a few snickers to escape, but a sharp word from Snape silenced them.

"Well, Miss Granger?  We're waiting for you to enlighten us."  Two seconds passed.  She opened her mouth. Snape cut her off.  "I see you've bitten off the end of your tongue then.  That's 5 points from Gryffindor.  I'll see you after class as well. Now, if I were you – I'd put my attention where it belonged . . .  _on-the-lesson_."  

Said lesson went slowly, the class lasting longer than the average would, which didn't surprise anyone.  When it was over, Hermione stayed behind – going to Snape's desk reluctantly.  As she did, Bella was leaving – her cheeks blushing a little as she past their dreaded teacher.  He was sitting at his desk, seemingly interested in neither of them.  

And then, his voice cut threw the air in it's silky manner.

"Miss Cinder, do stay a moment."  He looked up, his obsidian eyes locking on Hermione.  Bella obeyed him, looking between the two of them with some curiosity – her cheeks burning with this simple attention.  "Would you mind giving a few moments to Miss Granger to talk about what she didn't find on your ear this afternoon?  I'm sure she could use the information, as she's rumored to be very particular about her classes."

"No, sir, I wouldn't mind."  Bella replied, her eyes then locked onto the floor.  Her face was about the shade of Ron's hair.  Hermione was sure Snape had to notice, but he seemed not to_.  Curious, very curious. . ._

"Very well.  Thank you, Miss Cinder – you may go."  They watched the student leave.  His eyes locked onto Hermione once more.  "I trust this won't happen again, Miss Granger?  After all, I'd hate to rethink your presence in this class." 

*

Hermione sat in the Gryffindor Common room later that evening, her eyes scanning the words in her Arithmancy book – though her brain wasn't taking in any of the information the tome had to give.  Instead, her mind was on the blatant infatuation that Bella Cinder had for Professor Snape.  _How very  . . .  well, there is a word for it, I'm sure . . . but . . .  Hmmm.  How could anyone have a crush on that overgrown bat?_

"Hermione?"  Ron's annoyed voice brought her out of her pondering. 

"Yes, Ron?"  She asked, letting her eyes scan her book.  This time, her mind took in the information – though it was cut between that and the boy who sat playing chess with Harry Potter.  Well, the game looked abandoned then.  A letter had fallen to the middle of the board, and an owl was then leaving through the opened window.

"You have a message."  Harry told her, handing her the letter that had ruined the game.  Ron, his face set into an annoyed stance, began to pick up the pieces.  __

*__

Bella sat in the library, her notes from that day's Advanced Potions class spread out before her.  She was waiting for Hermione Granger to join her, hoping that the idiotic school owl had gotten to the girl.  If they waited any longer to get started, they'd be banished to their dorm rooms before they got any work done.  Not that they had much to do, but she wanted to go back to her solitude as quickly as possible.  If this hadn't been at Professor Snape's request – she would be up in her room at that very second, listening to her music faerie and playing with Meow, or reading, or studying . . . or thinking about Professor Snape and how he smelled of spices and smoke.  _Damn this Granger.  Why _was_ she watching me?  Maybe she's a lesbian?  Hmm . . . ._  It didn't occur to her then that she'd let her secret fan out to the wind and the classroom.  It didn't occur to her that someone would ever notice.  After all, when she wasn't being tormented by her Slytherin brethren, she was practically invisible – so why should she guess that Hermione was catching on to her infatuation with their Potions Professor?  Still, something inside of her told her to be wary of this little Gryffindor. But, why should she guess that anyone but he knew about it? Unwittingly, her thoughts went to him.  

_He knows.  That's obvious.  But, he wasn't saying anything_. _When is he going to bring it up? _She thought, her eyes narrowing._  He's itching to.  Has to be.  _Then, her eyes widened._  And if she knows. . .  _Her eyes narrowed once more, this time – with malice._  Well, we'll just see how this shall be, shall we not?_

Just then, Hermione entered the library.  Bella looked up at her with some curiosity that was well hidden, now that she was on guard.  

Granger currently had a true Slytherin to deal with – not sniveling, prejudiced Malfoy or his goons, nor the freakish purists whom garlanded their house.  No, she had a true Slytherin to handle in Bella Cinder.  

Bella nearly felt pity for her, until she let her calculating, wary nature take over in one final wave of self preservation.  


	5. Owled Notes, Invitations and Advice from...

Chapter Five

There was something amiss with Bella.  Hermione could tell from the way the girl was watching her then.  Gone was the benign, impartial glance from earlier; that had been a significant sign for the Gryffindor.  It had meant that the Slytherin hadn't taken any great notice of her, that she was safe from a snake bite.  Now, however . . . it seemed that the mind was fixed on her for some reason. _ Does she know that I saw, that I noticed her secret, when she thought no one was looking? _ Hermione's heart was pounding in her chest as she took a seat across from Bella, watching the girl with well hidden caution.  Years of dealing with Draco Malfoy had told her that, for all their prattle, most Slytherins were just a lot of hot air.  Something about Bella told her that this wasn't the case here.  It was the same feeling she got about Snape at times, when he seemed to be watching _everyone_ for _any_ sign of  . . . something.  

"I hope I'm not running too late."  Hermione stated out loud, letting her eyes fall to the scroll of notes on the table. 

"No, not really too late at all.  Though, another few minutes would have seen you so."  Cinder's tone was cool, silky - harsh and cutting beneath the surface.  _Has to be a house trait_.  Bella's hand came into Hermione's line of sight.  Small, thin white fingers pointed to certain words on the scroll.  "We end there.  The rest below it is text from a book I'm reading on the subject potion's entire classification."

"Then, where do we begin?"  Hermione asked, hitching an eyebrow.

"At the beginning.  Where else?"  

"Ah."  Giving no more than that bit of bitter humor at the remark, Hermione's head bent over her own blank scrolls as she put her quill to use.  As she began to write, Bella began to give her details that were left out of the notes – in a form, recreating the class.  _She knows how to comfort another scholar then_. As she went, Hermione noticed that most of them were in a form of shorthand.  _She codes her work.  Good thing she's telling me about it as I copy, some of these are confusing.  I'll have to cross reference later.  _

The impromptu lesson carried on for only a bit longer, and it gave no other hint of trouble save for the mistrust that laced the air.

*

Once more in his own rooms, Severus began to reflect upon the day.  On his shoulder was Nevermore – again feasting on scone crumbs while leaving serrations on his master's flesh.  A sigh from the man caused the bird to squeeze even harder, protesting that his perch stay still while he fed.  

"I'd watch those talons if I were you.  Don't want them filed off during our sleep, now do we?"  Severus questioned his familiar.  The bird gave a caw in reply, left the man's shoulder and went to his home perch across the room.  "Much better."

Free from the presence of his fine feathered friend, Severus allowed himself to go once more into his contemplation of all he'd tried to set in place that day.  He remembered the way that Miss Cinder had glowed red when he'd called her and Miss Granger to his desk.  It was unsettling, very unsettling.  Especially since it was in the presence of that little know it all Gryffindor.  Perhaps he'd been wrong to pair them up like that?  Could he trust the Granger girl not to tell her little friends of his . . . admirer?  If she did, there would be no rest for either himself or Miss Cinder. 

"Even in the midst of a coming war, there is always room for rumors and scandals – isn't there?"  He questioned out loud to the air.

"Always."  A haunting voice replied.  Snape wasn't startled by this unexpected reply.  In fact, he was hoping for it.  A moment later, the Bloody Baron made his presence further known by showing his metaphysical form.  The house ghost of Slytherin settled himself just above the cushions of the only other chair in Snape's little sitting room.  "So tell me, what causes this unrest in you, young Snape?  You could cause poor Peeves to explode in malice, all the worried energy you're sending off."

"Don't be ridiculous.  Poltergeists feed from the energy of young, not the old and used."  

"We'll not begin on that state of affairs."  The Bloody Baron muttered.  Peeves was a constant annoyance to _everyone_ in the season of school terms; whereas, in summer, the poltergeist was relatively none existent if one didn't know he haunted Hogwart's.   "Now, do tell me what has you so troubled.  It's not to do with that young upstart, Voldemort, is it?"

"No."

"I didn't think so.  You barely survived your last meeting with him, as I remember.  It would be uncouth to send you now.  And stupid of him to send _for_ you."  The Bloody Baron gave him a once over, noting silently to himself that Snape had healed since the summer.  He knew the young wizard was waiting to be called back to the underhanded use of that  . . . upstart.  He knew it troubled Snape to be around that Voldemort.  He knew it was also dangerous for him.  If Snape wasn't careful where that 'Dark Lord' was concerned, Hogwart's would soon have another  resident ghost.  It made the Baron happy that the living man beside him was free from that trouble for the time being.  That could change at any moment though.  At any moment, Severus Snape could be called to his death . . . and he would go, bravely – ready to stand up and take his final payment for the wrong he had caused.  Ready to die for the cause of sanity in an insane world.  And that world would never forgive him for his wrongs, even if he did die to aid it's own precious survival.  The Bloody Baron knew the story all too well.  He'd lived it himself once.  A very long time ago.

"He is biding his time with my death, isn't he?"  Snape gave a malicious laugh, knowing well what the Baron was thinking on.

"We shouldn't predict your future so, young Snape.  You may live yet."

"If there is a miracle and Voldemort is defeated."  He cast his eyes to the dying fire in the hearth.  "Though, I have no true hope . . . or wish , for that matter . . . to die useless as an old man in my bed.  It would be better to pay for what I have done, when I still have the memory of my crimes."

"You'll think different  if ever you find  yourself facing down that crawling green light.  And it does crawl to you, you know.  To those around you, it's just seconds until your death.  To you, the curse seems to last for ages."  He noticed the bluish tinge the silent man had taken to his skin.  "Come now, let us change this subject.  There is else that troubles you, and for that I came to give you counsel."

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."  Severus stated.

"Miss Cinder is it then?"  The Baron laughed at Snape's expression.  "Oh, don't worry.  No one else has really noticed it.  I just keep a care for anything to do with you, my boy."

"She's not to have anything to do with me, save for a student-teacher relationship."

"So you claim.  But, in your heart?"

"I don't remember that I have one of those, my forefather."

"Perhaps it grows inside you as we speak."  The Baron's words were clever and somewhat harsh.  Then, he softened.  "There is concern for this girl.  That is obvious, and that comes from having a care for her."

"A care I have for all my students, but nothing more."

"So you say.  So you say."  And with that, the Baron vanished . . . leaving Severus even more tangled in his feelings than what he had been before his ghostly forefather had come to 'help'.

*

Bella found herself in the Slytherin common room not to long after her session with Hermione had drawn to an end.   However, she turned her mind off from all those worries concerning that one for the moment.  There were other things to have a hand in at the moment.  Particularly, her studies.  To do this,  she chose her usual secluded corner, out of the general view of most of the others present – near to the roaring, warm fire that was currently in the gigantic, ornate fireplace.  A bit across from her, two other students were playing a game of chess – five others seated around them watching and betting on who the winner would be and/or whom would try to cheat first.  Neither player seemed phased by these remarks.  It was common enough that one of them most likely would try to cheat the other.  It was only a matter of time, really.  In chairs placed directly in front of the fire sat Malfoy and some of his ever present female groupies, holding loud conversation over nothing too highly important or perfect -  his 'prowess' at Quidditch.  Crabbe and Goyle were at his back, almost as if they were standing guard.  Most likely they were.  Due to the fact that, in the corner opposite to Bella's, several others were holding silent conversation – glancing over from time to time at the pack Malfoy had drawn together with ill hidden malice.  

_House politics. . . never ending, always so stupid._  Bella sighed with the thought of it all. There was, however, a bit of reprieve from the overt malevolence that always laced the air in that place.  A few seats down from her, other students were studying in silence – every now and again looking around and most likely having the same thoughts she was.  Most of those studying were in her own year, too busy with graduation and doing their families proud to have any notice with childish power struggles they commonly had a hand in.  _Yes_, Bella thought to herself, _this is the year when we find that childhood lasts but so long.  This is the year when we make ourselves truly ready for whatever is out there.  This is the year when we figure out how we shall survive, if we shall survive_.   Then, something else, though similar to her previous thoughts, took her mind as an owl entered the room and flew directly to a boy in her own year.  His name was Alfred  . . . Alfred . . . Alfred Something-or-Other.  Not very popular, but he was clever just the same . . . and he was cruel as well.  The owl carried with it a black envelope, with only Alfred's name written in silver ink tarnishing the true midnight color of the little parcel.  Alfred took the envelope with shaky hands.  Everyone knew what it contained.  A summons . . . to the circle of the Dark Lord.  

Though some feared it, most awaited their own with some impatience.  No one spoke of it outside that room.  No one spoke of it to their head of house.  He wasn't a student, after all . . . and this was the business of the students of Slytherin House.  No one else. It was unwritten law.  And it was under fear of unwritten penalty of death that no one spoke. 

As for Bella herself, she did not know if she'd get such an invitation.  Her Father was in Azkaban for his public support of Lord Voldemort during and after His first 'reign of terror'.   Her mother had not physically served the cause, as she was not exceptional . . .   Her mother had escaped Azkaban due to Bella herself having no one else in the world to go to, and for that already mentioned fact that she had no real hand in the actions of the Death Eaters.  She did not speak of her affiliation, though Bella knew what it was.  Her Mother's affiliation was to herself and to her daughter.  That was all.  As for Bella herself, she did not mind Muggles, nor did she mind Muggle Borns.  But in her society, she kept her mouth shut about that – either way.  Like her Mother, she served only her own cause.   If anything, she'd pull out her own Army of Followers. . . for what agenda, she didn't know – but it would not be the idiotic genocide of people who were not of pure wizarding blood.  In her opinion, Voldemort was a hypocrite and a fool.  That too, was also a silent belief.  If she was called on to join though . . . she could not refuse without fear of retribution in the form of death.  

Would she refuse?  It would depend on the offer.  

Everyone was offered something appealing. Everyone.  And Voldemort was not known to fail in his promise to his new recruits.  If she took it, she knew she would find herself climbing quickly up the inner circle's latter.  And when there?  Oh, that was natural . . . she'd over throw the fool.  Something inside her told her she could do it.  How?  She didn't yet know, but she knew she could.  

The prospects were looking better and better.  Even if she had to be a hypocrite for a matter of time, at least she'd have her place to belong. . . something she denied to her heart that she wanted – but in reality she longed for with no end.  And, her sense of self preservation would be satisfied.  As long as she lived and lived with no imminent danger, all would be well with it.

But, she would cross that bridge when she came to it.  It was not her time yet, if it ever would be by invitation.  After all, she was sure that her name was not one much mentioned.  Her Father, though a devote follower, was nothing special to Voldemort.  That she knew.  His freedom from Azkaban had not yet been secured, as she knew from whispers that others had been.  He was not of the inner circle, and what could the daughter of a lesser minion hold that her sire did not?  

No, she would not fall under notice due to lineage.  She still had her time to bide and to decide on her path.  

She commanded herself to change the subject as Alfred Something-or-Other got up and left his companions in the common room.  

_It was his turn to decide his path that evening. Not her's._

With that, her mind returned to her studies . . . and then floated with no problem to the matter of her Potion's Master.  Master.  Now there was a cause she'd gladly serve – her and her self preservation. _ If only the Granger girl keeps her mouth shut, if she knows anything. _

_                Does she?  _

*A/N: More will be coming soon.  Sorry these chapters took so long to post!


	6. Dreamscapes & the Birth of a Deep Plot! ...

Chapter Six

                _The long corridor was dark, drafty and alien. Frighteningly alien.  Bella walked on, though she did not know where she would be led.  Something seemed to be pulling her through this dark tunnel.  Pulling her to the end (or the bottom?) of itself with little effort.  She was nothing more than an indifferent puppet to the force of this place's will.  As she went, she felt compelled to look towards the walls surrounding her.  There, though the darkness closed over all other of the hall's features, she saw paintings.  All of them were glowing with their own light, glittering like stars in the dark void of the night.  Some were of faceless people, others were of people she recognized – be it from school, or from general society.  All were moving, like ordinary pictures would . . . but there was something else there as well.  As she passed each, she felt things from them – or rather, towards them.  To the faceless ones, she felt indifference – whereas, to the portrait of Headmaster Dumbledore she felt deep gratitude and a need to prove herself.   Passing a picture of what could only be Voldemort, she wanted to attack it, destroy the monstrosity it presented to her –so deep was her loathing of it.  _

_The feelings hit her and possessed her until she moved away from the portrait which had inspired these emotions.  It was all rather odd . . .  That was, until she came to an end.  There . . . there was a picture of herself at the very end of this hall.  There, dozens of emotions hit her.  Worry, need, want, lust . . . but most of all, fear.  A deep, delicious fear.  _

_                And then, her portrait was gone – replaced by a giant mirror.  In this mirror, she saw herself as being very small, trapped in the glass end of a dark tunnel.  Presently, the image in the mirror grew, and she was only a small speck in one of two obsidian eyes.   The reflection grew once more . . . and then again – showing her in seconds a face, then a body.  She was looking at Severus Snape – and he was viewing himself in a mirror!_

_                "Bella." She turned from the reflection in the mirror to find that she was then standing in a candlelit room.  The features of this chamber escaped her after the second she perceived them – though she knew them in hindsight to be of the greatest beauty.  However, it was something much more important that drew her attention away from the looks of the room's furniture.  She was standing only inches away from  Severus Snape.  _

_                He stood there in his eternally elegant black robes, though this time the sleeves were rolled up.  On one of his revealed arms was wrapped a snakeskin – one that looked wilted and fading.  On his other arm was wrapped a vine of thorns – cutting deep into his skin.  His blood was red laced with silver, and dripping from the cuts . _

_                "Bella."  He repeated, his deep silken voice filled with such emotion. . .  Feelings of  worry, need, want, lust . . . but most of all, fear.  A deep, delicious fear.  _

_                "Severus."  She replied, her voice lilting with hope and want.  _

_And then she was once again facing the mirror.  But this time, she saw herself in the arms of the one she longed for.  They were kissing.  Hungrily, tenderly, wantonly . . . It was beautiful.  And then, she felt his lips upon her own – and she realized that she was in the mirror, that she had left the outside looking in.  His embrace was gentle, but demanding.  _

_And it was glorious.  _

_Glorious._

Meow head-butted her from the land of dreams, breaking that sweet vision.  His current mews of pleading would turn soon into growls of demand.  Once again, the sun was shinning through into the room – warming her body that had remained unguarded by the bed curtains all that night.  A book lay open beside her hand, it's pages bent in on themselves.  Meow was on the floor then, looking up at her with annoyed urgency.

"Damn cat." Bella muttered sleepily, getting up from the bed to fetch the feline's breakfast.  It was, after all, time to start the school day.  As she went about her morning routine of getting ready for her scheduled classes, her mind began to drift back to the dream she'd had.  The memory was already fading, but she knew inside of herself that it had been special.  It had almost been real.   And, it had been about Professor Snape.  

Bella stopped in her actions to hug herself tightly – a dreamy look coming over her eyes.  Then, it vanished and her arms fell to her side.  

"I have to guard against these acts.  Hermione Granger is one too many people who know."  With that, she resumed her doings – taking a shower and dressing for the day.  Deep in her mind though, she was hugging herself over an unnamable joy, and the thought of a mirror surfaced.  

*

Harry's forehead touched the surface of his section of the breakfast table, his teeth gritting together.  Hermione was watching him with concern, as was Ron.  Both had already questioned him on what was wrong, and he only claimed it was a headache.  The two friends knew well what the ailment really was though.  A type of headache, yes – but not a typical nor a temporary one.  

_Voldemort must be planning something.  _

That was the thought that was shared in silence when Ron and Hermione looked at one another over Harry's hunched shoulders.  The air was thick with their worry, not to mention Harry's suffering.  Around them, however, these things were not noticed.  Everyone else was either enjoying their breakfast, studying, or talking loudly over some or other subject.  The thought of other people made Hermione look up and over to the Slytherin table.  There, she saw Draco Malfoy surrounded as always with his entourage.  A little down from him, a small group of boys she knew to be 6th years were whispering, looking down to the very end of the table.   Looking at Bella Cinder.  She sat by herself, the four or five seats beside her and in front of her were clear of people.  Her attention had been upon her breakfast and a thick book . . . that is, until Hermione had looked her way.  As if on cue, Bella had glanced up right as Hermione had cast her attention upon her person.  Their eyes met, and the Slytherin took on a aura of smug importance, gilded with spite.  It was as if the air filled with her malice, for when she had taken up this emotional mantel, the group of boys who had obviously plotting against her seemed to lose their bravery.  The group broke up, their attention going to their own meals before them.  A few cast fearful glances down the table to the older girl, but her eyes were narrowed in another direction.  Still, it would not benefit their health to break their plans on her then.  The affect they wanted was to get her angry enough to hex them, not add to her anger enough for her to kill them.  Hermione, like the rest of the students, knew of the bet that the Slytherins had on Bella Cinder's revenge.  

Just then, Harry groaned beside her.  Hermione broke her locked gaze with Bella, throwing her attention to the afflicted boy.  He was looking extremely pale, and his eyes were glassy with tears.

                "Harry?"  She and Ron voiced with concern at the same moment.  The youth in question shook his head, looking up at Hermione and then looking towards Ron.  His color was coming back, but slowly.

                "It's gone now."  He told them, and the calmly, he took to eating his breakfast once more. 

At the teacher's table, Dumbledore was watching the three Gryffindors with much curiosity – as well as hope that Harry would in time confide in him –even it was just partly.  He had an inkling as to the problem, though.  Maybe he should contact Sirius Black?  No, it was probably too soon for that.  After all, he and Remus Lupin were already neck deep in some other danger . . . no need to add more worry on them when the time for decisions and plans had not yet come.  They were, after all, already wary enough over the current events of their world.   

Dumbledore's thoughts distracted him so that he did not notice that another of his faculty was as preoccupied as he was.  However, the worrisome diversion of Severus Snape's was a whole other creature.  

*

He had seen the eye contact between Miss Granger and Miss Cinder.  He'd felt the malice that had risen from his house student, and had felt the curiosity from the Gryffindor.  And then Miss Granger had turned to an ill looking Potter, and Bella's anger had softened into simple alert.  She'd put her attention back to her meal and her book, not even glancing his way.  This puzzled him,  but he was thankful of it.  There was, after al, so much to give name to here.  So much to solve and understand . . . about her, about himself.  _So much about himself._

The Baron's 'counsel' from the prior night had helped to leave Severus far more worried than ever.  At the moment, he was watching Bella Cinder with concerns that varied and deepened by the second.  He wanted things for her, but he told himself that these things had nothing to due with libido or lust . . . 

 The things he wanted for her could have nothing to do with him as an active ingredient unless it was on a scholarly level or as a mentor against her Father's path.  Thoughts other than this frightened him, made him loathe himself. However, this self loathing was underlined with a futile wish.  _If only things could be different_, the wish would sob inside of him, _if only she was older, or I was younger . . . what a pair we would have made! _ 

The wishful side of himself he found to be a fool. . .  A bloody, simpering fool.  Crying on about if's and only's was not a very good habit to have if one wanted to survive in this world, so he schooled himself to ignore the wishful cries inside of his; while secretly, he prayed that it could be true – what the wish said.

~*~

Hermione looked at her time-turner and sighed.  She remembered her third year, when it had helped to suck the very life out of her - but then had been key in saving the life, no to mention the very soul, of Harry's Godfather, Sirius Black.   And now, she held it again.  Once more it would aid her in going to each class she had to attend.  Hopefully, she'd not overshot herself on the classes as she had in 3rd year.  Hopefully, the time-tuner wouldn't be needed to help divert any more catastrophes.  But that was wishful thinking, that latter thought.  Another sigh escaped her, and then she tucked the little manipulative trinket away.  Leaving the corner in which she choose to reflect, she looked around carefully to make sure no one had been around.  The use of the time-turner, of course, was once again a secret. 

Hermione's footsteps took her down the hallway to the entrance to the dungeons.  It was time for Snape's Advanced class once more, a class she had nothing else around – so her time-turner would be out of use for the moment.  In fact she wouldn't have to use it at all until the next day, when most of her classes seemed to jumble upon themselves on her schedule – each clamoring for her undivided attention.  

Entering the classroom, she saw that Bella Cinder was already there –seated and studying.  Also already arrived were the Ravenclaw boys, Marcus and . . . what was his name again?  It didn't occur to her at the moment, but Hermione knew she'd remember it one day or another.   Ignoring the two youths, she crossed the room to take her seat next to her class partner.  Bella's eyes didn't leave her book – an old, thick tome on the subject of potions that caused emotional manipulation.  _Isn't that book illegal?_ Hermione asked herself, her brow furrowing in the idea.

"Goody-goody little girl, it's not a forbidden subject as long as it's not abused."  Bella stated, her blue eyes locked on Hermione.  "Besides, we use emotional manipulation all the time – in or out of magic.  How can they forbid something so fundamental to magic and to life?"

_How'd she know what I was thinking?_

"Excuse me?" _Good cover on the surprise there, Granger_. Hermione smiled inwardly.  But only for a second.

"The look on your face when you saw what this book is about.  Gave you dead away.  But, there is your answer." Bella returned to her reading, hitching up the side close to Hermione so it couldn't be read.  

_Oh, I've annoyed her.  Very good Granger, just alienate her_.  Hermione mentally kicked herself.  _If she's as predatory as Malfoy is, I'm in for it!_  

Beside her, Bella kept reading – her attention never leaving the book.  Even when Snape entered the room in his usual creepy flourish, Bella's attention stayed on the book.  It took the mention of class starting to make her close the tome.  And then, she looked beyond Snape or at her scroll of notes or their text book.  _She's obviously determined to hide it_, Hermione concluded, _now that she knows someone took notice of her.  Poor girl.  She must be terrified.  Well, I need to make her know I won't spread a word of it.  It's not like she's Malfoy or one of his goons. _

*

Sitting at his desk, Severus began to work on the next lesson plan while the students before him silently took the notes he'd scrawled along the board.  Growing short on an idea that had been flowering in his mind for next lesson, he allowed himself a bit of recess to look away.  When he did, his attention went to the first person on his mind. She was taking her notes in silence.

_ Well, look  at this_, Snape thought - his attention on Bella. _ She's pretending not to notice me.  The instincts have kicked in over Granger now, obviously.  Good girl, Miss Cinder.  Keep it up until you graduate, and we'll all of us be well off.  Find some young man worthy of your notice then .  You need not have me in your life.  I'd do nothing but destroy it. _ 

Then, he looked at Hermione, his thoughts changing to the reminder that she was in possession of a time-turner again.  It was another fact of his grudge against her, the gnawing suspicion that she'd used it to help out Black two years ago.  Not that he'd bring it to anyone's attention that he _knew_ about that little offense- now that there were more important things on the horizon to worry over - but it was just another reason to resent her presence. 

His eyes traveled back to his own notes before him, but before they could reach the scroll, they landed on the book on Cinder's table.  Though he couldn't see the title of it, he could tell by it's bindings what it was.  He hadn't seen that volume for ages.  Then, an idea struck him.  It would be amusing to see how many people mucked _that one_ up.  

"Miss Cinder?" He questioned out loud.  She looked up at him,  making eye contact for just a second.  Before his attention could cause her to blush, she let her gaze go through him to the wall at his back.  He could feel her disassociate herself with _his_ specific presence.  Now, he was just another teacher. 

"Yes, Professor?"  

"May I have a glance at that book you've bootlegged into my classroom?" His tone was startling friendly to the other students – but then, their minds reminded them that Bella was a Slytherin – and Snape favored only his own House.  The shock wore off them all. 

"Of course."  She nodded.  He waved her up to the desk, and she rose up and crossed to the front of it.  Bella handed the book to him, her vision trained on the wall behind his head.  It was difficult for her not to look at him – but she knew her face would fire up - and that she didn't want, especially now that the whole classroom was watching.  

"May I borrow this for a time?" Snape asked, after satisfying himself that it was the book he'd thought it would be.

"Of course." She gave a nod of her head.  "I can owl my Mother for her copy if I need it for any further study."  With that, she returned to her seat – leaving the book with Snape.  When she sat, he looked up at the class . . . and became enraged that the majority of them, including Miss Granger,  were staring at him, and then at Bella, all due to the exchange.  He rose from his desk, and strode to the nearest of them.  

"Mr. George, would you please so kindly tell me exactly what is of such interest it takes you away from your current study of the given lesson?" He stared down the Ravenclaw, whose first name was Marcus,  and he could feel the boy flinch under his stare. Snape waited a moment.  No reply.  "Well? Need I take points from your house if an answer is still not forthcoming?" 

"No sir."  Marcus replied.  He was shaking.  Snape had that effect on some people . . .  but the students had never witnessed another one reacting so much like Neville Longbottom.  _Marcus may have that one Gryffindor beat out on the fear of me_, Snape observed somewhere in his subconscious.  _No matter_.

"Do enlighten me, then."  One of his hands was sat upon the youth's table, the other was curled up on his hip.  The smirk on his face was growing into a sneer at the boy's silence.  One could've heard a pin drop in that silence. Snape would wait a moment longer.  Still, nothing.  "Very well. 10 points from Ravenclaw.  5 points from Hufflepuff and Gryffindor as well, since no one else volunteered the information."   A collective groan came up.  "Now, keep your eyes upon your work.  Tomorrow we will begin working on a very volatile project.  I want no more distractions.  Is that understood?"  Again, no reply.  "Is it understood?!"

"Yes, Professor Snape."  The mostly cowed students replied in unison. Snape returned to his desk, loudly muttering how his Advanced students were turning out to be worse than a group of untrained first years.

After class, and after Hermione Granger had gone her own way, Bella approached Professor Snape at his desk.  Once again, she looked at him as though he were just another teacher – or at least, that's what she forced herself to do.  

"Professor?"

"Yes, Miss Cinder?"  His voice was low.  He was still moody, but he would answer a scholarly question.  All Slytherins learned his moods during their first year – and what could and would not pass during each. 

"May I ask which project we will begin tomorrow?"  That brought his attention up to her face.

"One you should know well, if you've studied this volume as you seem to have."  He replied.  "I will return this to you after I've made exact copies of the directions to make the Mania for the class."  He used the potion's nickname to make sure she'd studied it.  The glint of familiarity passed through her eyes, and he was satisfied. "You'll have it tomorrow, I promise." 

"Thank you, Professor."  She stated, giving him a small smile.  Then, she left – her mind racing on how she could get even with Hermione Granger for even knowing about her secret.  The Mania was a potion that manipulated a person into fixating all their thoughts onto one subject or thing– and there it would stay until the object of the obsession was fully understood or fulfilled.  It had once been used for a very short period by Wizards and Witches as a study aid for their children, until it had been noticed that the children cared for nothing else save for the subject . . . not even food or water or sleep, until the subject was learned.  Since then, it had been reinvented to have a less potent affect, bringing out a less obsessive reaction to the subject named as the potion was drunk.  It was presently known to be archaic, having been put out of commission two centuries ago – when potions of emotional or mental manipulation of most forms were found to be inhumane.  The book expressed all of this, and also gave a antidote.  It also had a side note, written in code –that Bella had obviously broken- that if one added an article or hair belonging to a person, and whispered the name of that person in the drinker's ear, that the person would become the obsession – as well as another subject or thing told to them.  The antidote would then only work to reverse the obsession with the subject or thing, not the person.  The drinker would be doomed to pursue that person until the obsession was returned.  At that point, the drinker would lose the obsession and feel the way they normally would have about the prior obsession.  Hence, it was then named the 'Unrequited Love' potion.  It was impossible to trace.  And, strange though the fact was, it was not illegal to make or use.  

Bella was smiling with triumph when she reached her next class, the full plan against Hermione coming into her mind.


End file.
